


these are the days (that i've been missing)

by ocaptainrogers



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Fluff, I hope, M/M, awkward!aidan and flirty-but-a-little-shy!richard, barista!aidan, coffee shop AU, richard's still an actor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocaptainrogers/pseuds/ocaptainrogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>once upon a time, tumblr-user 'biriusslack' (now kilivanily) wrote a post that sounded more or less like this:</p><p>"can someone please write a hobbit rpf au where richard flirts with cute irish barista!aidan and then takes him out for a fancy ass date with a candlelit dinner and wine and all that shit because richard is a romantic-slash-classy fucker"</p><p>(ABANDONED)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biriusslack](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=biriusslack), [bluepeony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepeony/gifts).



> this is not beta'd, any mistake is my own!

[my tumblr](http://bomburs-butt.tumblr.com/)

 

 

 

In Ludgate Hill in London there’s a café. It’s not as big and fancy one as those in Camden Town or Shaftesbury Avenue, but if there’s anything this one’s got, it’s got to be charm, and lots of it. The general appearance of the café - rather uncreatively called _T_ _he Coffee Shop_ – is that of an old and well preserved brick building; simple and not-particularly-luxurious looking, but beautiful.

It’s got a big and thick front door made of Black Walnut; it’s slightly worn, giving it a welcoming and cozy appearance. There are three large circular windows looking out at the street, good food and great drinks to be served. The only downside to actually working there – not that being a barista at that particular café is something bad in itself - is living on Wandsworth Road and having no other means to get to work than an old bicycle his mother got him when he was still living in Ireland.

And it’s not even that much of a downside, to be perfectly honest.

He supposes he could take the cab to work and most days it’s somewhat tempting (especially when it’s raining) but in taking a cab he wouldn’t pass that flower shop on Nine Elms whose owner always hands him a daisy, sometimes a daffodil, because she loves it when he stops to chat for a few minutes every morning. He wouldn’t be able to take a detour and ride over Waterloo Bridge instead of the Blackfriars either, so he could say hi to the old man who always walks his dog past that fancy hotel on Temple Avenue when Aidan flies past.

Neither would he be able to ride by the bakery on Pilgrim Street, through the cloud of heavenly smells seeping out from their open door, and wonder if he’ll jog over there during his lunch break to see what new they’ve got in their pantry - even though they serve some pretty good buns and muffins at _The Coffee Shop_.

That’s what a normal day for him includes and he doesn’t ever want it to stop, though some part of him wants to leave the job as a barista far behind and do something else with his life, like take pictures or paint, or something else creative. Maybe even write, if he had the patience to actually sit down and put words down, and hope the sentences he creates are even half-decent.

Today is a normal day, though – normal meaning _boring_ in most cases, this being one of them – there are few customers in, it’s raining quite heavily and these two teenage girls won’t stop staring at him. Aidan sighs and adds _trying_ to his mental list of how normal days go, but tries not to show how thoroughly _sick_ he is of this job and takes to wipe the counter.

The coffee stains have seeped too far into the wooden counter. He gives up and pops a toothpick into his mouth instead to keep his mouth from doing other things, like _hum_ or _talk_ or tell those girls to _stop staring, it’s rude!_ but he settles on frowning instead and wonders what a frown would sound like if people could hear them.

Would it be like dragging a brick along an asphalt road? Or the deep rumbling of large boulders rolling down the side of a mountain? Or maybe it would just be like the shrill shriek from a boiling kettle? Aidan hawks, chews his toothpick, and stops thinking about it.

The girls two tables down from the front door continues to giggle loudly and he looks up at them, struggling to hold back the annoyed grimace, as he unconsciously breaks three other picks between his fingers. He slides his eyes by them to see if they’re still … staring, startling when they immediately squeal and hide their faces in their hands. Like that’s going to make their red faces any less obvious.

On any other day he’d appreciate this sort of attention from strangers, but when it happens so often _and from the wrong gender_ he’s allowed to get annoyed-borderline-crazy by it.

Clearing his throat to keep himself for muttering curses under his breath, he tosses the washcloth into the bin along with the now-ruined toothpick and turns around to rest his back against the counter – the break room looks awfully inviting; the off-white door is hanging slightly ajar, like a goddamn invitation. There’s still ten minutes left of his shift though, so he bites the insides of his cheeks and keeps himself from sliding down to the floor and take a well-deserved nap.

It’s five minutes later that he starts to get suspicious about the girls and their intentions. It’s not that they’re being perfectly upfront about it, because they are, it’s just that they came in twenty minutes ago and ordered one cup of latte each, which were finished quickly after and now it’s just as if they’re waiting for … oh crap – they’re planning to jump him when his shift ends, he’s sure of it.

It’s not that he’s afraid of girls. He’s _not._ Ok, maybe a little bit, especially _teenage girls._ He’s heard horror stories and based on how his sister was during her post-puberty years, he’s got a right to be scared.

He closes his eyes and bends his head, pinching the bridge of his nose like that’s going to take the growing headache away and transport him back to his little bed in his little flat on Wandsworth Road. Another giggle from the pair sounds through the small café and he barely manages not to cringe.

He’s busy feeling sorry for himself whilst trying his best to find a way to let the girls down easy – it’s too obvious that they have some sort of … feelings towards him, good or bad has yet to be determined – when he hears the door open; the bronze bell over the door jingles, a sound he’s always liked.

If he could only burst out the door when the clock strikes four and run to the back where he keeps his bike without them noticing him leaving …

He’s so immersed in plotting his escape that he doesn’t open his eyes until the person that just walked in starts talking and this time Aidan does _cringe_ , but only because he didn’t know he had a thing for deep and raspy voices until now. If dark chocolate could talk, this was what its voice would sound like. Dark, melted chocolate being stirred slooowly in a pan. He wants to taste it, just lift the spatula up at flick his tongue out and have a wee tast-

“Um, hello,” the man says and Aidan startles, a bit too violently, because this not at all what he expected when he heard the door open.

He opens his eyes and meets the gaze of a tall handsome man with broad shoulders and mile-long legs. His hair and shoulders are wet. “Hi,” Aidan says, but it’s so low he has trouble hearing it himself. “Hi,” he says again and tries to fix his hair – he’s got no idea how it looks, but he’s fixing it either way. Maybe there’s something on his shirt and jeans as well; he brushes them off too, all the while feeling scrutinized by the stranger.

“Everything ok?” Handsome-Stranger asks and his mouth curls into a small smile, like he’s unsure if he should laugh or just stick to smiling. The skin around his eyes wrinkles just the tiniest bit and Aidan is very sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

As if on cue his cheeks grow warm. He tries to hide it, but by the way Handsome-Stranger smiles he’s seen it already.

“Everythin’s fine,” Aidan says and thinks that maybe he should move, but the fear of making a fool of himself in front of Handsome-Stranger isn’t something he wants happening, so he stands perfectly still behind the counter and hopes the ceiling won’t fall down on his head.

Handsome-Stranger chuckles and ducks his head as he finds his wallet. “Could I get a black coffee then, please?”

Aidan blinks and takes a step over to the espresso machine, all but forcing his legs to move, plucking a white porcelain cup down from the cupboard over it. “Black coffee? A bit boring, don’t you think?” he finds himself saying and _why, why did he say that?_ “I mean,” and now he can’t stop. “It’s not that I have anything against black coffee, or people drinking it, it’s just …” he’s run out of breath and the cup in his hand is slowly inching closer to the black coffee-pot.

Handsome-Stranger narrows his eyes at him, his lips still doing that thing between being confused and wanting to smile. “D’you think I should’ve chosen something else -,” he asks and leans forward to read Aidan’s nametag, the one he wrote while he was in a hurry one morning and it looks more like hieroglyphs than actual letters, really – he’d be surprised if Handsome-Stranger managed to decode it in less than twenty seconds. “Aidan?” _three seconds. Fuck my knee and slap my toe._

Aidan hawks to keep from unwillingly making some other embarrassing noises. “The, uhm, _Americano_ is sorta popular.” He tries to come up with any other kinds of coffees or lattes, but his mind is completely blank and the fault of that falls on Handsome-Stranger’s glittering blue eyes and them alone. He should be embarrassed.

“Which one would you recommend?” the man asks and rests one hand on the counter, he sounds so genuinely interested in what Aidan’s answer would be so he doesn’t hesitate to give it to him.

“The _Caramel Chocolate Latte_ with a shot of espresso,” the words rushes out of his mouth before he even stops to think, still clutching the empty cup in his hands in front of the machine. He’s about to ask why when Adam walks in – another employee - puts his apron on and steals the cup from Aidan to make _himself_ a latte, as he does every time his shift starts, regardless of whose hands the cup is in and if they were just about to use said cup. It’s infuriating.

“Your shift’s over, Aidan,” Adam says and grins, puts his glasses on and drinks coffee out of the cup that was meant for Handsome-Stranger.

Before Aidan can do anything about it though, Adam’s already taking Handsome-Stranger’s order, “One _Americano_ and one _Caramel Chocolate Latte_ with a shot of espresso, thank you.”

Adam nods and smiles and goes to make them, but Aidan’s left standing off to the side, frowning at the stranger, “Why’re you gettin’ two coffees?”

Handsome-Stranger blinks and pauses in the middle of fishing a couple of bills up from his wallet. “I thought maybe you’d like to have one too. With me,” he says, a soft smile playing on his lips, looking all too confident about what Aidan’s answer is going to be.

Aidan’s only vaguely aware of Adam looking between them like this is some kind of show, it’s probably amusing him to see Aidan like this.

“I’d love to,” Aidan says after a beat and removes his own apron and nametag just as their drinks are done. He doesn’t know if sitting down for a coffee with a stranger is one of the best things he’s ever done, but Handsome-Stranger seems like a friendly guy. After all, what’s he got to lose? It’s only a cup of coffee anyhow.

“Hey, what’s yer name by the way?” he asks once he’s on the other side of the counter, standing beside him. Adam’s still looking at them like he doesn’t know what to think.

“Richard,” he smiles and presents his hand, holding the steaming cup of _Americano_ in his other.

Aidan chuckles awkwardly and takes his hand, “You already know my name, but … Aidan,” he says and pushes hair back behind his ears once they’ve let go of each other. “And I’d love to, ahem, yeah. Have coffee. With you.”

Richard's grin becomes shy at that, like he’d hoped Aidan would accept the offer, but never really thinking that he would, after all. “Alright,” he says and ducks his head slightly in a way that makes Aidan want to make embarrassing noises and pinch his cheeks.

They walk over to a small table by the windows and sits down opposite each other. Aidan casts a brief glance in the direction he last saw the girls, but they’re not there; he sighs in relief even though they never really did anything but stare at him, and takes a sip of his latte.

He knows it shouldn’t surprise him that much, but Aidan is taken aback by how well the two of them get along right from the start. No awkward pauses, no heavy silences where they have nothing more to talk about, no ceilings falling down on Aidan’s head.

Aidan told Richard about moving from Ireland, Richard told Aidan about growing up wanting to be an actor, which has actually happened, and Aidan feels bad for not having seen any of Richard’s films. Apparently he’s in a couple of shows called _Strike Back_ and _MI-5_ and has a small part in an upcoming superhero movie, amongst other things. Aidan makes a mental list to get a hold of and watch those things sometime.

Richard didn’t seem put off by Aidan’s lack of knowledge of him though; it appeared to relax him instead.

It felt like they’d been chatting non-stop for hours when Richard’s phone suddenly rang. Aidan checks the time on his watch and they’ve only been there for half an hour. For some reason he’s disappointed.

“I’m sorry Aidan, but I’ve gotta go,” Richard says with an apologetic frown on his face; he looks as disappointed as Aidan feels about the abrupt end to their ... date. Is it a date? “Work,” he adds and frowns down at the phone in his hand like he’s not too far from situational phone-murder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aidan tells him and stands up along with him, stacking their empty cups out of habit and holding them in his hands, feeling a little awkward standing there right now.

Richard’s lips forms a tiny smile, “It was really nice meeting you, Aidan.”

“You as well. Really nice.”

“I’d, uhm, I’d like to do this again sometime,” Richard stutters and he seems like a total different person from who he was one minute ago; collected and calm. Now he looks like a nervous teenage boy asking someone out for the first time. Aidan can’t keep himself from smiling because that means this _was_ a bloody date _._

“Me too.”

“Would-would you like to, um, go out with me some day then?”

Aidan thinks the smile might never leave his face, “Yeah,” he says and tries not to sound as excited about it as he is, but it’s hard when his heart is doing what feels like ten thousand beats a minute. Feeling self-conscious about the sudden redness in his cheeks Aidan looks down and presents his hand to Richard again. “I’d like that.”

Richard clears his throat and uses his free hand to scratch his neck as he gives Aidan his other. “Should I pick you up around … eight? Friday?”

Aidan agrees – perhaps too readily, but he ignores it - and rattles off his address when Richard asks. They stand for a moment in front of each other like they’re both a bit unsure of what to do; Aidan all the while feeling like they’re being watched – Adam, especially, is not as inconspicuous as he thinks he’s being.

“Friday’s perfect,” he mumbles, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

Richard’s eyes lights up as if he didn’t think Aidan would actually say yes, and grins, stuffing his hands down the front pockets of his jeans. “Alright, I’ll come by then,” he says, waiting for Aidan to give a sign of understanding before he walks out of the café; he casts a brief glance back towards Aidan before he’s out the door and off down the street.

Aidan’s left standing in the middle of the café with a look on his face that he’ll later regret wearing, luckily Adam makes no mention of it – today.

“Who was that?” comes his voice suddenly at Aidan’s left shoulder.

Aidan gives a slight startle and shakes himself out of the daze Richard left him in. “What? Uh, Richard.”

“Yeah, but Richard who?” Adam scoffs and asks again, folding his arms over his chest. “Did he ask you out?”

“Yes,” Aidan mumbles and wants to know how Adam can be so damn calm about all this; an incredibly gorgeous man comes in, asks you to sit down for a coffee and it ends with him asking you out on a fucking date? Aidan’s mind is a mishmash of thoughts rolling around like hurricanes – he might appear to be calm, but his insides feel like its holding a party for thousand Thompson Gazelles. It’s not fun.

“Oh, sounds nice. When?” Adam asks and Aidan feels himself relax just a bit by the smile in his friend’s voice.

“Friday,” he answers and his breath hitches when he remembers that it’s Wednesday today, which leaves him with less time than he’d like to mentally prepare himself for not only going out on a date with someone for over three years, but to see Richard again and try not to act like a fool. Or an idiot. Or a foolish idiot, which would be the worst thing.

A small sound akin to something not too unlike a whimper escapes his throat and beside him he sees Adam’s head turn towards him so fast Aidan’s slightly taken aback it doesn’t make a sound.

“Friday in two days?” Adam asks, his voice now suddenly low as if he somehow knows what kind of psychological trauma Aidan’s going through.

Aidan nods, but he imagines it looks more like his neck is cramping up, or like he’s not sure how to nod. Either way it can’t look good. “Ye-es,” he swallows thickly and brushes his hands on his jeans and wriggles the tension out of his shoulders.

Adam huffs beside him and gives him a too-hard pat on the back, “’s gonna go great, Aidan.” And then he’s walking back behind the counter yelling _want some tea?_ behind him as if everything has turned normal again, which it has _not._

Aidan wants to say no on principle, but then he remembers how much he loves tea and how cold it looks outside, and that he’s going to have to ride his bike home over Blackfriars today in this weather. He wants to call a cab. “Yes, thank you,” he says, because tea always helps. And there’s a chill creeping up on him that the warm beverage will most likely scare off.

“How many sugars?” calls Adam from a few paces away to the sound of two cups getting filled up with boiling hot water. Aidan already feels a bit more relaxed.

“Two,” he answers and finally finds it in himself to move and sit down on a tall chair by the counter, right in front of Adam. “And a dollop of milk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the much-anticipated date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has really gotten out of hand! it was only meant to be a one-chapter fic, but now it'll most likely have 3, maybe 4, we'll see :)
> 
> still unbeta'd

 

Friday creeps up on him faster than he expects it to, much too fast, and it should excite him and fill him with energy, but instead he finds himself unable to move at all. It’s noon on Friday – his day off – and he’s still in bed feeling like he won’t be able to get up without wanting to fall back in. He had spent all of yesterday trying not to think about Richard, and his date with Richard, and how utterly _bad_ that whole thing could go if Fate is feeling particularly malevolent today.

He turns around to lie on his stomach and resolutely ignores the prickling ache in his back and neck caused by lying in bed too long. The sun is shining through the rooftop window over his bed and he lies there for a while and follows the hundreds of tiny dust particles dance around in the air illuminated by the sun. He blows at them a couple of times, amused by the chaos he creates as they swivel violently around before settling again.

It doesn’t take long before he gets sick of being still. He spins around onto his back and tosses the duvet off before sitting up and pulling a new pair of sweats on and a black wife beater. By the time he’s fully dressed and out of the bedroom-area of his tiny flat, the grey heavy clouds have taken over the sky and the sun is no longer casting warm rays through his window. He tries very hard not to take it as a sign and makes himself toast to keep his mind off it.

He takes long shower after breakfast and spends half an hour making funny faces at himself in the mirror in lack of anything else to do, before finally picking up that unopened tube of facial cream his sister got him for his birthday last year. She had said it would do wonders for his skin, _I use it all the time, here, feel how soft my cheeks are!_ He frowns at the drop of cream in his hand and hopes she’s right because he’ll never forgive her if he ends up with rash covering every millimeter of his face.

After that he sits down in his armchair - there isn’t room for a couch – and flicks on the TV, hoping there’s something interesting enough to keep his mind off of what’s going to happen later.

-

Around five o’clock he can’t sit still anymore and takes to pace around the flat where there’s room - which there isn’t much of - so he ends up walking from the kitchen, around the coffee table, over to his bed, and then back to the kitchen – about twenty steps in total.

“It’s not like it’s such a big deal,” he mutters to himself as he’s at his bed again and casts a nervous glance at his teddy bear, Gandalf – he’s always been a huge Tolkien fan.

Gandalf stares back at him with dead, unblinking marble eyes and says nothing.

Aidan frowns and nibbles at his lips. “I mean, he’s probably taking me to that tapas place on Broadwick or a fucking _Burger King_ or something _,_ ” but as persuasively as he says it, he can’t make himself believe it. “What do you think?” he asks. Gandalf doesn’t answer.

“I know he’s an actor, probably A-list, I don’t know, he’s in a lot of shows and … movies …” he trails off, lost in thought as he remembers bare-chested Richard in that episode of _Strike Back_. Clearing his throat he turns back towards the old teddy bear on the bed, “But does that mean he’s one o’ those _yes, I’d like to see the wine-menu, please_ and _candle-lit dinner at a fancy restaurant_ sorta guys?”

He stands for a moment in front of the bed, pushing his hands down his pockets. He’s sporting a _boulders rolling down a mountainside-_ frown and then folds his hands over his chest, staring down at Gandalf as if that’s going to make him talk. “He’s probably got pizza planned. Or spaghetti. I hope it’s spaghetti.”

Outside the sky has cleared up and the sun is once again peeking up behind the clouds. The thin rays of sunshine that manage to sneak their way past the grey clouds shoots through his living room window, casting long shadows over the light wooden floor. Aidan takes a couple steps over until his right side gets warmed in the sunlight.

He looks down on the floor and picks up the cap of the pen he’d lost about a week ago, fiddling with it in his hands. “I’m gonna screw this whole thing up aren’t I?”

Gandalf sags down slowly before falling to the floor.

Aidan scoffs, “That’s what I thought.” He picks Gandalf up and flings him back on the bed, then goes to sit down on his little coffee table, feeling very demotivated all of a sudden about this whole thing. What Richard saw in him the other day that made him want to take this further, he has no idea, and suspects he might never know; he’s going to end up making a fool of himself and Richard is going to get up from the table and shake his head and walk out of wherever he’s taking him and never come back.

He looks back at his beat-up old teddy bear with one eye barely hanging on by a string, and a hole in the side, and it looks too much like he’s being scolded by it. The teddy’s arms appear to have crossed themselves over his fluffy stomach, green marble eyes darkened as it bores its gaze into Aidan’s.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” Aidan says and straightens up. “Yer sayin’ I’m too negative about this whole thing, aren’t you?”

Gandalf says nothing, but the gleam in his eyes seems stronger now all of a sudden. It should worry Aidan, him having conversations with his stuffed animal, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s been sitting there for some time, staring at nothing, when he suddenly whips his head around to check the time on his clock in the kitchen. It’s seven thirty. “Fuck!” he cries and jumps off the table, nearly knocking down his half-full coffee cup from this morning when the table moves from his abrupt movements.

He runs over to his wardrobe and all but flings the drawers open, tossing out the socks and trousers and jumpers he’s sure he can’t wear on an occasion like this. Worn jeans, t-shirts with holes in them and hoodies with cartoon prints ends up on the floor in several heaps; three pairs of underwear ends up on top of the fridge, but he’s going to be too freaked to question it when he eventually finds them.

“What the hell am I gonna wear?” he mutters as he digs deeper through the drawers, putting aside whatever he deems somewhat acceptable; a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt and a black blazer. If only his sister had been here, she’s the one who knows how to dress people up.

“This one?” he mumbles, holding up a white v-neck with long arms. Frowning, he figures if that’s an option he should put something over it, like plaid. Yes, plaid. Excellent.

He’s in the process of shedding his sweats and shirt when he hears the door of his flat open; he freezes, hunched over in his bedroom area only wearing underwear, holding a dirty t-shirt in his hands. It’s a comical sight, but not from his point of view; for all he knows it’s a serial killer breaking in.

“Aidan? You here?”

Aidan lets out a harsh breath and stands all the way up, afraid his frown might now be permanently etched into his face. “Adam.”

“Oh, hello,” Adam says and stops short before casting a glance over at Aidan’s clock. “Shouldn’t you be putting clothes _on_ , instead of taking them _off_?” he takes cautious steps further into the flat as if he’s afraid Aidan might suddenly explode, which isn’t that far-fetched, actually, since Aidan’s sort of feeling the same thing.

“I _would_ , if I knew what the fuck to wear!” Aidan hisses back and throws the shirt to the floor somewhere behind him, followed by the sound of a cup falling to the floor and breaking. He ducks his head in defeat and sighs through his nose. “Dammit.”

“Well, you can’t go naked, that’s for sure,” Adam says and now he’s closer, and when Aidan opens his eyes again, Adam’s rummaging through his wardrobe, muttering _yes_ and _no_ and _what is this?_ under his breath as he looks through Aidan’s clothes. Is nothing private anymore?

It’s fifteen minutes before Richard’s about to show up and a sick lump is forming in Aidan’s stomach, and now he’s afraid he might vomit all over Richard’s shoes when he comes to pick him up. The lump grows and grows and he’s on the verge of falling to the floor crying when Adam gives him a pat on the shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s that face?” he asks and tilts his head.

Aidan blinks and clears his throat. “What face?”

“That face you’re wearing.”

Now he’s beginning to think he’s not the only one going bonkers around here; he’s talking to teddy bears and Adam’s seeing faces. That’s it, the world is falling apart. London is crumbling and Aidan and Adam will be the first ones to go.

He feels as if he’s about to vomit right then and there when Adam snaps him out of it, this time by not-so-gently hitting him on the head with a rolled up magazine, or it might’ve been the phonebook based on the level of pain it caused him.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Adam tosses the magazine back onto the coffee table and folds his arms over his chest. “I get that you’re nervous, but it’s,” he looks down at his wristwatch, “Ten minutes until your date shows up and although I don’t think he’ll have anything against your … current state of dress, I can imagine he has something else planned _before_ you see each other naked.”

Aidan swallows thickly and absentmindedly rubs his head, “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

Adam nods and holds up a pair of black jeans – not the ones Aidan found himself, a white v-neck t-shirt and a white button up. He’s looking awfully content with himself. “Now go put this on, you numpty.”

Aidan lets out a laugh and it feels like the first one he’s had in ages, and rips the clothes none too gently out of Adam’s hands. He doesn’t bother going to the bathroom to change, instead he sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls his trousers on as fast as he can.

Adam walks over to the little kitchen area while Aidan’s busy trying to climb into his shirt instead of putting it on the normal way, and failing to do so in a hurry – his arms gets stuck twice - and makes coffee for the both of them even though Aidan won’t be able to drink his by the time Richard’s here.

“Should I do something with my hair?” Aidan asks when he’s done and walking over to Adam, pushing his untamed curls behind his ears. “It’s too late to have it cut, but I could wear a pony tail, you think he’d like that? Oh shit, I shoulda shaved too! I look like a hobo! Do I look like a hobo, Adam?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?” Adam sighs and Aidan nearly shrieks in panic and looks as if he’s about to burst into tears.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

“It’s fine, Aidan! I was joking, calm down,” he says as soothingly as he can and puts his hands on Aidan’s shoulders, forcing him down onto a small kitchen chair. “I’m serious, it’s all fine, you look great.” He smiles and pushes a cup of water in Aidan’s direction over the table. “And don’t bite your nails, you bloody sod!”

Aidan mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but puts his hands down nonetheless. He’s about to take a sip of water when there’s a soft _tap, tap, tap_ on the door. Aidan immediately tenses, his whole body rigid against the back of the chair as he stares at the door. He looks at Adam, almost panicky in his gaze as a soft _no_ escapes his lips when Adam immediately goes to open it.

He feels almost glued stuck to his chair as Adam lets Richard in, he can just make out the low rumbling of Richard’s voice and the lighter one of Adam. Two seconds later they’re both coming back in, Richard trailing just behind Adam, a soft smile on his lips as he looks around the flat, making Aidan suddenly remember the clothes he’d strewn all over the place earlier.

When Richard is by the edge of the table Aidan hops off his chair, pushing hair away from his face, “It’s messy in here, I know, and I’m sorry.”

Richard looks at him funny and chuckles, “ _Good evening_ ,” he says pointedly first, still smiling, “And it’s totally fine, don’t worry about it, Aidan.”

“Yes, good evening, sorry,” Aidan mutters and is about to say something else when Adam clears his throat and gives him a pointed look. It takes a couple of seconds for his brain to register what it is his friend is trying to tell him, “Oh, and this is Adam. He’s a friend, he works at _The Coffee Shop_ too.”

Adam steps forward and shakes hands with Richard, “Hello, Richard, pleasure to meet you.”

Richard clears his throat and scratches his neck with his free hand, “Hi, pleasure’s all mine.” If Aidan didn’t know any better he’d say Richard looked nervous, it eases the lump in his stomach somewhat, but he can still feel it, though it’s not nearly as heavy as earlier.

“Well, I should really be going, my cat needs to be fed, so,” Adam says a moment later and sends Aidan a wink before he’s putting his jacket on and out the door. Aidan would’ve said something back about him not having a cat, but the words die on his tongue when Richard hawks and smiles at him.

“So,” Aidan begins and busies himself with walking over to the coffee table to pick up the broken pieces of his favorite cup, “That was Adam, who you’ve might’ve seen before, he took your order the other day.”

Richard shuffles around the flat whilst Aidan mops up the coffee and stands by the window before walking over to sit down in the armchair. “Yeah, I recognized him.”

“Ok, um, yes … well-,”

“Nervous?” Richard interrupts in a soft voice and smiles at Aidan when he nods. He lets out a short laugh and wrings his hands, folding them before unfolding them again. “I’m sort of nervous too.”

This makes Aidan feel a bit better, but also not. It’s a bit hard to explain. He nods again and finds nothing to do with his hands, so they just hang limply by his sides. “I’m done mopping the floor,” he says and stands up, feeling self-conscious when Richard follows his every movement like a hawk.

“Wanna go then?”

“Yeah.”

-

They take a cab over London Bridge and down towards Southwark Street, sitting close enough for they’re thighs and shoulders to touch and Aidan can’t help but feel giddy over it. He almost wants to reach over and hold Richard’s hand, but decides to wait until later or when Richard takes initiative and does it instead.

Aidan is just about to ask how far they’re going when the car stops and Richard steps out of it, holding the door open for him like a proper gentleman; Aidan smiles to himself and feels his cheeks grow warm. He waits on the sidewalk while Richard pays, as he insisted on doing, saying _No, I’m the one taking_ you _out, I’m paying._ He sort of hopes Richard won’t be the same about the bill, because even though Richard is an actor Aidan doesn’t want to feel like he can’t contribute at all.

“Are we here?” he asks when Richard walks up to him again and they fall into step along the sidewalk. All the buildings around them looks fancy and luxurious and way out of Aidan’s pay grade. He reckons he’d have to sell everything he owns just to have a glass of wine in one of these restaurants.

Richard smiles and shakes his head, “No, but we’re close. It’s just down the street here.”

“Whoa, looks like the queen coulda eaten here, look at this,” Aidan says as they walk past one that looks particularly posh. There’s a man in a three-piece suit just inside the door, waiting. That place probably has reservations out the whole year and well into the next. He gulps and unconsciously moves closer to Richard as they walk down the street.

“You’re not taking me into one of those places are you?”

He looks over at Richard, who’s ducked his head and appears to be fighting down a blush. “What would your reaction be if I was?”

Aidan raises his eyebrows and his mouth drops open, it takes a couple moments before he’s able to think about what to respond, no less actually _saying_ it. “I’d hafta work double shifts for a whole month, _and_ take a second job just so I can pay half the bill!”

At that Richard laughs and although it’s a sight to behold, Aidan doesn’t feel any less reassured, quite the opposite. “I’m serious, Richard!”

“You don’t have to do that, darling,” Richard chuckles and nudges his shoulder against Aidan.

“I’m not gonna let you pay for the whole thing,” he says and he’s still worried about what’s going to happen when it _is_ time to pay for their dinner, but Richard’s endearment makes his whole body feel warm and as if his whole heart has grown at least two sizes. He wonders if Richard feels it too.

“I was the one who asked you out, which means-,”

“That we split the bill, because that’s what proper people do,” Aidan finishes for him and smiles for himself when he hears Richard huff next to him.

“The place I’m taking you isn’t that fancy though,” Richard reassures him and finally moves closer so he can put his arm around Aidan’s waist.

Aidan’s afraid the grin might split his head in two, but he’s too busy enjoying the warmth from Richard against his left side to think about much else. Aidan brings his own arm up to hold against Richard’s back and has to force himself not so smile too wide; they walk like that the rest of the way.

-

“Not fancy, my ass!” Aidan hisses as soon as they’ve walked into the restaurant Richard has chosen for their date, and he’s not at all pleased when he hears the low rumbling of Richard laughing at him.

“Should I apologize?”

Aidan folds his arms and lifts his chin up, “Yes.”

“Well, I’m not going to, so sorry for not apologizing. Here, let’s find our table,” Richard says and all but drags Aidan with him further into the restaurant.

Aidan feels ill at ease and very much underdressed in his jeans and white shirt, although Richard is wearing his own pair of blue jeans and nice dress shirt under a black cardigan. He has a tie, though, that bastard. A _tie_.

“Are you sure I can walk in here dressed like this?” he whispers to Richard as they’re at their table. Richard stops short and looks Aidan over.

“What are you talking about? You look amazing,” Richard says and pulls Aidan’s chair out from the table before sitting down himself.

Aidan can feel the other guests looking at them and keeps his eyes fixed on the table as he tries to make the redness in his cheeks go away. He can’t quite quell the excitement that shoots through him when he sneaks a peek up at Richard and sees him looking at him, though, and nearly tips the tall champagne glass off the table in his feeble attempt to act like he knows what he’s doing.

He shares a short laugh with Richard before finally mustering enough courage to face the rest of the restaurant. It’s absolutely stunning in there, the roof is at least three meters up, there are beautiful chandeliers hanging down and there are tall candles burning on every single table, along with three sets of knives and forks, and spoons. Aidan picks one up and hopes they’re not having a three-course dinner, because despite him having barely eaten all day he wouldn’t be able to eat more than one portion of whatever they’re having without fearing he might throw it all up.

They’re in the middle of a conversation about that huge ship that sailed up the Thames yesterday when a waitress walks up to their table. She clears her throat when they don’t stop talking immediately, and smiles at them. It looks forced at best until she notices Richard, Aidan tries not to take offence.

“Good evening,” she says and Aidan is about to say it back when he sees how her eyes widens as she realizes who’s sitting at the table. “Um,” she stammers and fiddles with her notepad and hair, straightening her skirt and blouse as well.

Richard seems to suddenly feel as out of place as Aidan, who leans back into his chair and sniggers, lifting his hand up to cover his mouth. Richard shoots him a halfhearted glare and turns to face the waitress.

“Yes, hi-,”

“Menus! Oh gosh, ok, here they are,” she’s started to mumble and all but throws them down on the table like she’s somehow scared of yet immensely turned on by Richard. Aidan finds the whole thing endlessly amusing, more so when he sees Richard blush and not know what to say.

“Thank yo-,”

“Would you like something to drink while you wait for your food?” she asks and Aidan is about to tell her he wants a glass of water, but she has turned her whole body towards Richard as if he’s the only one at the table. Now it’s not so funny anymore, but he doesn’t dare say anything about it.

Richard notices though, “I’d like a glass of water, please, and you, Aidan?”

Aidan perks up at the mention of his name and nods, “Yeah, water for me as well.”

The waitress barely grants him a second glance as she writes it down on her notepad. “Would you like to order now, or?” there’s a smile in her voice and she tosses her hair back in the most obvious way, and bends down ever so slightly to show Richard how well-formed her breasts are, painfully unaware of Richard not being into that kind of thing.

Richard is starting to look uncomfortable and casts an apologetic look at Aidan, mouthing the words ‘sorry’, like it’s all his fault. Aidan understands, though, and mouths back, ‘don’t worry about it’, feeling the lump easing up even more when Richard returns the smile.

‘Should I’, Richard mouths again and points at his menu. Aidan nods, ‘yeah’.

All the while the waitress has been chatting on and on about things neither of them has paid any attention to. Richard eventually clears his throat loud enough to startle her, and he can’t quite keep the smile off his face when she frowns when he’s only looking at Aidan and decidedly _not_ her.

“We’ll have the, uhm,” Richard starts out resolute, but then he stops and puts the menu down, looking at a very out-of-place feeling Aidan. He smiles and winks at him. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

The waitress stops short and blinks, looking between them. She waits for a moment, like she’s sure he’s joking, but when he looks up at her with raised eyebrows she immediately writes it down. “W-would you like to have some wine or champagne with tha-,”

“ _Vouray Champalou_ , please,” Richard cuts her off and smiles, but he’s looking straight at Aidan, who can barely keep himself from laughing. “In fact, we’ll have the whole bottle.”

She doesn’t say anything more as she stalks off, leaving them to themselves again. “I think you pissed her off,” Aidan leans across the table and whispers, feeling his smile widen when Richard leans forward too.

“She sort of pissed me off first, so I guess we’re even.”

“And another thing,” Aidan says and laughs when Richard immediately perks up, “Spaghetti?”

Richard sniggers and leans back in his chair, “I like spaghetti, and your friend Adam said you’re a huge spaghetti-fan.”

-

They’re halfway through their respective plates of spaghetti and meatballs when Aidan finally asks what has been nagging him since the moment they walked in, “Aren’t you worried about the rumors?”

Richard stops chewing and takes a sip of the champagne before responding. “What rumors?”

Aidan looks around them, but they’ve got a table for themselves in one corner away from all the others. The closest couple is four tables down from them and well out of ear-shot. “The, you know, us on a date-rumors?” he leans in and whispers, “Gay rumors?”

Aidan had pictured a lot of ways for Richard to react at that question, but he never thought he would laugh. “I stopped worrying about gay rumors many years ago.”

“Ok,” Aidan says, but he’s still worried, for his own sake as much as Richard’s. “Do they know then, since you don’t worry about it?”

Richard shrugs, “I have no idea, maybe. Most likely. Are _you_ worried?”

“About what?” Aidan asks even though he knows perfectly well what it is Richard’s enquiring about. Richard knows it too, but still he elaborates.

“What they’re going to write about you in the magazines as well?”

“Not really,” he says, and it’s true – to some extent. He’s a bit scared about just what will be written about him if they keep dating, and the press finds out who he is. He worries about what will come of their relationship if it evolves past this, and how he’ll cope with being famous for being an actor’s boyfriend - if that ever happens.

“You know, it’s fine if … I understand if you wouldn’t want to … if it _does_ come out tomorrow, or the day after, or a month after for that matter,” Richard says and fiddles with the table cloth as he speaks, keeping his eyes fixed on the piece of cloth worried by his fingers. “If it becomes too much, too strange, I-,”

“Richard,” Aidan interrupts and leans forwards again, his hand has somehow managed to wander over the table to cover Richard’s, but he doesn’t pull it back. “I’m going to stop you right there and tell you that you’re an idiot for thinking that in the first place,” Richard scowls at him, but doesn’t move his hand away.

“And that I’m not going to fucking run away from you and go into hiding just because we’re outed, ok? _If_ we’re outed, I mean, I don’t mean to presume, but-,”

Richard turns his hand and takes hold of Aidan’s, “I know.” Then he does that smile again, like he’s looking at the person he’s been looking for his entire life, and as cheesy as it sounds, Aidan’s sort of feeling the same thing. _Very much_ feeling the same thing. “Would you like to go out with me again after this?” he asks even though he knows the answer, Aidan knows he does, and lifts Aidan’s hand up to press the lightest kiss against his knuckles.

Aidan blushes and ducks his head, using his other hand to cover how ridiculously big his grin is whilst still trying to appear somewhat unaffected by it all. He clears his throat once Richard’s let go of his hand and tries to busy himself with moving his chair closer to the table. “Yes.”

Richard smiles warmly at him before taking another sip of his champagne.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day after the date; adam asks aidan out about the date. 
> 
> (or; where adam sticks his nose too far down aidan's business, only to get upset about aidan not being as into fancy restaurants as he is)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i /was/ going to finish the fic up with this chapter, but then i found i had to do another one... so it looks like this is a 4-chapter kinda thing :)
> 
> oh, and let's all pretend southwark street is this super-fancy place where all the best (and most expensive) restaurants in london are!
> 
> still unbeta'd

When Aidan wakes up the following morning it’s not in the way he prefers – which is getting up when he’s fully rested and physically _can’t_ sleep anymore. The shrill sound of his ringtone jerks him out of a dream he’d be perfectly content on let evolve, and it feels as if its vibrations is making the entire apartment building rumble. He groans, eyes barely open, and fumbles for his phone.

“Rherh,” he groans in greeting when he eventually finds it and falls back on the bed, casting a short glance towards the clock on the kitchen before letting his eyes fall shut again. It’s nine o’clock – on his day off – and now he’s a little bit pissed.

_“A-Aidan, is that you?”_

Aidan sighs through his nose, long and agonized, and squeezes his eyes more firmly shut when his head lands back on to the pillow. “Adam.”

 _“Good morning!”_ comes the overly cheerful and _too loud_ voice of his friend, making Aidan cringe and move the phone away from his ear.

He groans again, but this time it sounds more like a pained laugh, “Is it, really? I don’t know about you, but normally I’d be sleeping this time o’ day.” He rubs his eyes, still refusing to open them up, hoping he would fall right back asleep when this conversation eventually ends. “It’s Sunday, Adam, what’re you callin’ me this early for in the first place?”

 _“You lazy gob,”_ Adam mutters and then there’s rustling, like he’s adjusting himself; it sounds like a wind is blowing - _is he outside?_

_“Well, I thought-,”_

Aidan’s breath catches in his throat and he sits up, eyes flying open only to immediately close as he’s hit with the sunlight beaming off the bright white walls around him, because when Adam’s sentences starts with ‘well’, nothing good ever happens.

 _“- I thought you could maybe get your arse out of bed and let me in ‘cus I’ve been knocking on your door for about,”_ there’s a pause, as if he’s checking the time, _“The past ten minutes.”_

Aidan whimpers and curses to himself because now he’s too awake to fall back asleep and Adam is going to stand there and wait until he opens the door, be it in five minutes or five hours, because that’s what Adam’s like. “Adam. Sweet, sweet, Adam. It’s _nine_ in the _morning!_ Why are you calling me, why are you even _outside_ this early?”

Adam huffs through the phone and takes to knocking on the door again, like he’s trying to prove that he’s really out there and that he’d very much like to come in based on the sense of urgency in his tapping. It’s probably cold, being only March and Aidan is tempted to let his friend stand there and freeze for another ten minutes on principle, because Aidan hates being wakened no matter how early or late it is, and whoever dares to end his precious slumber should be severely punished.

Ten more minutes out in the cold London-air ought to be enough, Aidan reckons, and smiles to himself.

 _“I’ll tell you when you let me in.”_ The knocking continues.

“Go home and come back later,” Aidan says, but he’s already on his way out of the bed, pulling the closest pair of sweat pants and t-shirt on. He hisses at the shirt when it doesn’t immediately cooperate and pulls on the first pair of socks he finds. They don’t match, but he’s too tired to care. “I’m kinda busy at the moment,” he adds as he makes an attempt to make his bed, growing frustrated when the duvet won’t fold the way he wants it. He gives up and moves Gandalf over to the corner of the bed instead, just because he feels the need to have accomplished something at nine o’clock on a sunny Sunday.

It takes nearly a full ten seconds before Adam answers and when he does it’s more or less screaming into the phone, _“Why? Is Richard there?!”_

Aidan stops short on his way across the living room, brows furrowing in confusion at Adam’s question. He looks back towards his bed, half-expecting Richard to be in there despite having just made it, “No?” He feels surprisingly disappointed by the lack of Richard in his bed, but thinks no more of it when their conversation continues.

_“Oh.”_

Now why does that guy sound like someone ran over his nonexistent cat? “Adam. Did you come all the way over here because you thought Richard might be here?” Aidan asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s actually surprised in himself for not foreseeing this because he’s pretty sure Adam’s hobbies involve to a large degree sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong – which is another way of saying he’s too interested in Aidan’s private affairs.

The line goes quiet and it makes Aidan aware of the fact that the knocking has stopped as well. For some reason he fears Adam might have left; that’s not like his friend at all. “Adam?”

Then there’s the sound of the softest _tap, tap, tap_ he’s ever heard against his front door, and it causes a small smile to spread across his face, simply because of how _adorable_ it sounds; like it’s a little blue tit knocking on it instead. He walks over and unlocks it, finding a grinning, red-nosed Adam standing on his ‘front porch’, one hand stuffed down the pockets of his oversized jacket and holding a basket in his other.

One doesn’t see those sorts of baskets much these days, the brown ones that look handmade, by old ladies probably, out of straw. Aidan tries to tone down his smile, his bad mood immediately gone now that he’s faced with his best friend wearing a cheeky grin on his doorstep, carrying breakfast it seems, but this smile is adamant about staying on.

“Good mornin’,” he blurts out in lack of anything else say and tries not to jerk the basket out of Adam’s hands and delve into it – the smells coming from it are downright heavenly. His stomach growls just from thinking about what might be in there, hoping it’s filled with freshly made buns.

Adam’s smile doesn’t falter despite having seen the predatory looks Aidan keeps sending his basket. “Yes, it is,” he says instead, pushing the thick-rimmed glasses further up his nose. “Though I think it might rain later.”

Aidan laughs and goes to drag Adam in through the door when he doesn’t move, “No shit, we’re only in bloody England. Now get in, ya bastard, and give me my breakfast.”

“Oh, so now you want me in your apartment? And just to have at the food I got up at _eight_ to bake, by the way,” Adam says, but his tone is fond despite the bite in his words. “And I made them for a reason, Aidan,” he adds and pulls the basket out of Aidan’s reach when he makes to grab for it, much to the Aidan’s dismay – it earns him an ugly glare and a twisted lip, but he takes no offence, he knows his friend is tired and hungry.

Aidan’s glare subsides into a soft pout and he let his arms fall. After a moment of standing in front of an Adam who isn’t going to give up his basket any time soon, he sighs dejectedly and goes to get himself a glass of water instead, stopping in front of the sink with the empty glass in his hand as he recalls what else Adam said. “You made them for a reason, you said?”

“Yes,” comes the annoyingly short answer as Adam shuffles into the kitchen too. He pulls a chair out from beneath the table and sits down, putting the large basket on to the table in front of him. Aidan sits down opposite of him and waits for his friend to pull out whatever delicious things he’s got in there, but all Adam does is sit there with the barest hint of a smile on his face, looking all too much like the most patient man on Earth.

“I’m hungry,” Aidan mutters after a moment and glances briefly towards the clock on the wall again; it shows nine thirty, and he’s not sleepy anymore. Part of him is irritated, but whenever Adam decides to start sharing what he brought Aidan reckons everything will be puppies and rainbows again, though he’s still peeved about Adam keeping his sentences one-word short.

“I should think so,” Adam says back and uses one hand to push the basket over to the right side of the table. Aidan follows it with his eyes and his stomach growls when the lovely smell hits him again.

“Can I have one, then? Maybe? Please?”

Adam puts his hand into the basket and fishes up a cinnamon bun. He keeps it in his hand hovering over Aidan’s, “Tell me how the date went.” His voice is probably meant to warn him that something bad is going to happen if he doesn’t get his way, but it just sounds like he can’t stop smiling – which he can’t either, as he watches Aidan’s eyes turn big.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Aidan agrees and snatches the bun out of Adam’s grasp before he has time to retract his hand. He takes a huge bite out of it immediately, closing his eyes and sighing like he hasn’t had proper food in weeks. It tastes amazing, as good as the smell would imply; still warm and soft and airy and wonderful.

Adam gets them both glasses and plucks an unopened milk carton out of the fridge while Aidan devours his first bun. When he sits back down again Aidan’s halfway through a second one, Adam shakes his head and wonders how the hell Aidan manages to stay so fit despite him eating like a goddamn horse. It’s probably his daily bike rides through half of London. Yeah, must be those. And fast metabolism.

At length he spoke, when Aidan’s mouth weren’t full of food, “Where’d he take you?” He takes a sip of his milk, leaning back in his chair as if he’s preparing for a long story – which he very much hopes he’ll get, and keeps his eyes fixed on Aidan.

Aidan swallows down half the glass of milk before he speaks: “This fancy place on Southwark. Italian, I think it was.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then folds them on the table, a soft smile playing on his lips like he’s remembering something.

“Southwark?” Adam asks, sure he heard it wrong. He even takes his glasses off, which will have no effect on his hearing at all. “He took you to a bloody restaurant on Southwark? _Sod off!”_

“Yeah,” Aidan laughs and nods, making his unkempt curls jump around like lots of soft dark springs. Adam’s eyes are momentarily glued to them before he shakes his head and snaps himself out of it.

“Wh-, what was the name of it? Th-the place?” Adam asks and leans forward in his chair, over the table. He’d never in his life expected Aidan Turner - a curly haired, loud-mouthed and awkward Irishman - to ever set foot in one of the places on Southwark Street; least of all _willingly_. He’s more of a greasy diner kind of guy.

Aidan shrugs and looks up at him, still smiling that goofy grin of his like he’s still sitting in front of goddamn Richard Armitage in a goddamn five-star Italian restaurant, “Dunno. Never thought of that, to be honest. Probably something Italian and cliché, like _Luigi’s_ or something.” He laughs again and ducks his head. Adam decidedly ignores the sudden pinkness of Aidan’s cheeks, and folds his own arms over his chest. He barely manages not to seethe, not wanting anything to do with Aidan not taking things seriously; especially things like Italian Restaurants.

“Richard Armitage, who, must I remind you is a famous actor, took you to a bloody _Italian Restaurant_ on _Southwark_ _street_ and you never bothered to see what its name was?” his attempt to not-seethe failed, but he can’t say he worries too much about it. Aidan doesn’t seem affected at all.

“Well, as you said, I was on a date with Richard Armitage. Doubt you would bother to remember your own address had you gone anywhere with him,” Aidan says, sitting back in his own chair and smiling that stupid smile again, looking way too pleased with himself. “It was just a restaurant, I don’t understand why you make such a big deal out of it.”

Adam wants to find that magazine he used yesterday, but hit his friend a little harder over the head this time. He ponders if he should really bother to be angry about this and fetch the newspaper on the couch, or just let Aidan be Aidan. “What did you eat then?” he asks, settling on the latter – he has tried getting this sort of thing into his friend’s head before, but no matter how many times he attempts to teach him anything about restaurants and wines and ‘posh things’, as Aidan calls it, it never seems to stick.

“He, uh,” Aidan mumbles and blushes as he scratches the back of his neck, looking like he’s uncomfortable talking about it. Adam feels a wicked grin spread across his face as he leans closer. “Spaghetti and meatballs,” Aidan finishes in a barely audible mumble.

“Really?” Adam answers and tries to come across as surprised, but the slight quaver in his voice gives him away; he’s trying really hard not to laugh.

Aidan fixes him with an unimpressed look, but he fails at it as his cheeks are still pink, as are the tips of his ears, making him look adorable instead as he ducks his head and looks away. The term ‘shy otter’ comes to Adam’s mind.

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Richard said you told him about it,” Aidan eventually stutters out and composes himself as well as he can; making his ‘neutral face’ which makes him look like he’s angry instead for those who are unaware of how Aidan’s face works. It’s an unfortunate ‘ability’, but he’s learned to live with it.

Adam laughs and is about to say something back when Aidan continues.

“But, yeah, we had a great time. Talked about stuff and … things. Oh, and the waitress was such a pain! How she got a job in that place is a mystery to me, man,” Aidan goes on, taking sips of his milk every now and again as he keeps eying the basket.

“What do you mean? Did she, you know,” Adam asks and part of him doesn’t want to know if it’s too bad, but he’s got a feeling it isn't since Aidan looks pretty calm about it.

“Nah, she was just a bit hung up on Richard, ya know. She recognized him and pretty much ignored me, basically.”

Adam hums and wants to say something, but doesn’t quite know what. He did come here for one specific thing, though, and it wasn’t dirty details on their waitress. He leans forward over the table again and rests his head in one hand, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as he sees how Aidan immediately leans in too. “So?”

There’s now only a foot between them, Aidan’s arms are caught between his belly and the edge of the table, making him look like an ill-fitting otter wondering what the hell is going on. Adam stops short and wonders where the hell all these otter-comparisons are coming from, but decides to ignore it for now and think about it later.

“What?” Aidan asks.

“Did you kiss?”

He gets his answer in form of a deeper blush as Aidan immediately turns his head away and hawks; there’s a smile on his face though, and it looks like it’s not going to leave any time soon. He doesn’t answer.

“Oh, come on, Aidan! You went on a bloody date with a celebrity and I told him what your favorite dish is, that has to count for something! I deserve to know!”

“Of course, Adam, I’m sorry,” Aidan jokes and doesn’t bother to hide his blush once he realizes Adam’s already seen it.

“Come on, Aidan, please,” Adam keens and throws in a pout for good measure.

Aidan gives him a flat look, “Since when is telling someone’s date embarrassing things about said someone an achievement that should be rewarded? I should kick yer arse, is what I should do.”

Adam frowns and leans back. He puts his glasses back on, “Since when is liking spaghetti embarrassing?”

“Since always! Especially now that someone like _Richard Armitage_ knows about it! Why he hasn’t told me to sod off and go back to my teddy bear in my tiny ass apartment yet, I don’t know!”

Adam considers Aidan closely; he is clearly upset about something, or the lack of something. The lack of Richard not-liking Aidan, perhaps. He decides to ask, “Why’re you so hung up on that?”

“On what? Spaghetti?”

Adam shrugs.

“I-,” and a moment later Aidan’s forehead is placed firmly on the table top and it seems like he’s finally realized how much he’s overreacting. Adam’s not entirely sure what to do in this situation because he’s never seen Aidan like this before; he decides to wait and not say anything, hoping his friend will sort it out by himself.

-

After no less than five minutes does Aidan sit back up in his chair and tell Adam the whole story; what they talked about, what they drank and whether or not the waitress made another appearance – which she did not.

“And when you went home, what then?” Adam asks and leans forward again and rests his head in his hands, trying to reel in some of his excitement. His leg ends up bouncing under the table, but at least his entire body isn’t trembling on the chair.

Aidan sighs through his nose like he always does when he’s at the climax of a very long story, and scratches his head, looking at nothing in particular. “We took a cab home – to here - and he got out of the car, and held the door open for me and everything. And then we, uh,” he blushes and lets out an awkward laugh, “We kissed right in front of my door. Then he asked me if I’d wanna do this again some time. I said yes, and he said _I’m happy to hear that_. We kissed again, said good night and I went to bed.”

“He kissed you?” Adam asks, but it comes out as more of a squeal than anything. Aidan gives him a funny look and raises one eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says, feigning nonchalance, but his cheeks are still pink and he’s having trouble sitting still on the small kitchen chair. “For a moment I didn’t think he would do it, ‘cus it looked more like he was going for a hug, but then when he started closin’ his eyes and … yeah. It was pretty great.”

“Did he use tongue?”

Aidan gives him the most scandalous expression Adam has ever seen and smacks him across the head. “Adam!”

“Oh my god, did he?” Adam says and starts giggling; Aidan can’t say he would mind if the ceiling were to fall down on his friend’s head any time soon. To be quite frank, he’d welcome it.

“No, he didn’t,” Aidan says instead and stares unimpressed at him, lowering his eyebrows trying to look as menacing as possible. Based on how Adam is still chuckling, it failed.

“Did he touch your bum?”

This time something does hit Adam in the head, but it’s the basket he brought over and not the entire building, as Aidan would’ve preferred. Adam cries out in pain and rubs his head, the basket rolls over to hit the back of the armchair. There’s no dent in it, unfortunately, and Aidan resists the urge to tramp on it until there’s nothing left but a heap of broken straws.

“That was uncalled for,” Adam mutters after a moment and gives Aidan his best glare, still rubbing the top of his head. “And you’re getting me a new basket if that one’s ruined.”

Aidan scoffs and downs the rest of his milk. Their little feud is short-lived though - as are all their little fights – when it gets resolved over a cup of tea and an episode of _QI_ on the TV.

An hour later Adam is standing by the door with his empty precious basket in his hands, “I’m glad you had a great time, Aidan. I hope you guys, you know, work out.”

Aidan smiles and gives him a hug before stepping back to open the door for him. “Thank you. I’ve got a feeling we will.”

“I’ll be the first to know, right?” Adam throws over his shoulder with a smile as he’s walking out the door.

“Of course, I’ll call you right away,” Aidan grins back and closes the door with a laugh when a smile explodes across Adam’s face and he gives him a thumbs-up.


End file.
